


Thine In All Ways

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Female-Centric, First Time, Healing Sex, Mentor/Protégé, POV Female Character, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artanis Nerwen of the Noldor is eager to learn all that Melian of Doriath has to teach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thine In All Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Celeborn, what Celeborn?
> 
> This is pretty much sort-of-demisexual questioning-lesbian possibly-genderfluid Artanis, and she is not and never will be Galadriel in the context of this story.

_I am no stranger to beauty. For in my childhood I lay underneath the Trees and bathed in their radiance, and in my youth I raced on horse and by foot across the plains of Aman and there beheld fair views that would take the breath from me even as I ran. And I have dwelt in Tirion upon Tuna, I have seen the Valar in all their terrible glory, and I have walked the unceasing Ice and there seen forms carved by wind and wave._

_And now as I look on thee, my heart ignites. For though of the Maiar, yet thou art bound to thy physical form like no other, and thy fea burns through, barely to be contained in even such a noble vessel._

_I have asked that I may learn from thee and know all thou wouldst teach me. Fairest beyond fair, touch me, take me, tame me, for I am thine in all ways!_

“Lost in thought, little one?” an amused voice said from behind Artanis, and she gasped, turning to see the Queen herself standing behind her, eyes alight with laughter. She was taller than Artanis (and indeed her own husband) by more than a foot, and touched the earth as though it bore her lightly. A form with dark hair like a river and grey eyes like the Sea she wore as a garment, and Artanis was transfixed with wonder. 

“I thought of you, my lady,” she said, a hand reaching out toward Melian unconsciously, “and so you have come.” 

“I have much that I may teach you, if you wish to learn,” the Maia said, taking Artanis’ hand in hers and stroking it gently.

“I would learn _all_ ,” Artanis answered. “For though I am but the youngest child of a youngest child, I have ambition and skill to match all my cousins and my brothers.”

Melian stepped closer, looking down into Artanis’ eyes. Artanis looked back up at her for a long moment, and together they regarded each other, unblinking. 

“Tell me,” she said at last, “why did you come here out of the West?”

Artanis felt her knees go weak from an unnameable sense of fear. “I followed my cousin Fingon and my brother Finrod,” she began to say, shakily, head dropping, but Melian interrupted her, hand still in hers, steady and reassuring. 

“No. That is what you tell yourself when you are afraid. But what do you say to yourself when you measure the limits of your ambition and skill?”

Artanis raised her chin again, looked Melian in the eyes once more. “I wish a realm of my own to rule, rather than be kept safe by my family. This is why I came to you rather than stay with Finrod. For there would I dwell, imprisoned, trammelled, even by those I love. I wonder that Irisse can bear it, with Turgon.” She drew her hand out of Melian’s, suddenly angry, and clenched her fists. “We both were overlooked when the realms were divided up. I rage at it - I can lead an army as well as Maitimo, I can command hearts as well as Findekano.” In her anger, she was forgetting to use Sindarin, and Melian put a finger to her lips. She went silent, feeling the pounding of her blood in her ears, and the breathless catch of unresolved anger in her chest. 

“Not for nothing were you called Nerwen,” Melian said, herself in Quenya, and then switched back to Sindarin effortlessly. “Fear not, Artanis, but cultivate patience. For although Doom lies on you, it weighs less heavy on you than on any of your kindred. You are welcome here, and I will gladly teach you.” She took Artanis’ hand again. “Come with me.”

——

At first the lessons were straightforward continuations of things Artanis already knew. 

Melian taught Artanis how to use osanwe, or thought-communication, to a far higher level than she had ever learned before. In her days in Valinor, she had received little training in the art of mind-speak, and much of her family could not communicate effectively using osanwe, except for her brother Finrod. It was not a skill any Feanorian possessed in any great measure, and indeed Feanor himself had scorned it, despite using it effectively once when holding the Silmarilli, to see past the barriers of Melkor’s mind and perceive his true intentions. 

But to a Maia like Melian, osanwe was less a little-used form of communication than an obvious recourse when words did not suffice. For that was the difficult part of osanwe for the Children of Eru, that words and language came so much more naturally at first. Osanwe was not based in words at all, but in emotional impressions, images, feelings passed from mind to mind, and it took much time and practice to become accustomed to it, and to be able to switch back and forth from mind-speak to mouth-speak easily. 

The care and cultivation of lembas was the second lesson, and they spent much time together in the fields. Lembas needed little light to grow, and much could be produced from a small crop. There were gaps in the forest where sufficient could be sown for all their needs, and Artanis loved the smell of the ripe ears and of the dried, golden straw. Each plant had to be handsown, harvested and ground by hand, never touched by a blade, and all the work was done by nissi. No neri, not even the King, would set foot on those fields, or lay a hand on the supply of baked lembas, without the Queen’s permission. 

Artanis, skin browned a little by the sun, would see the Queen gliding from plant to plant, touching each one, caressing any that looked small or weak, encouraging it to grow. And in the rich black earth she would stand, eyes lost to the movement of Melian’s form in the field, to the wonder of her skin that never darkened, and the wave of glorious black that was her hair. She would go breathless behind her mind-shields, desperate with the desire to let them fall, to let Melian see all her desire. 

And Melian would look across the field with eyes that seemed to pierce through all her mind (even though in truth Artanis knew that they did not and could not) and she would drop her eyes, her face flushing hotly, breath coming fast. 

When at last the mild winter that settled over Doriath inside the Girdle came upon them, Artanis retreated inside the halls of Menegroth, spending her days in reading and study. Melian gave her full permission to examine any of the books in the library or to speak with any of the loremasters in the Halls. So it was that Artanis learned of all the different kinds of the Quendi and their histories from Cuivenen onwards, and began to study the art of healing. 

But it was indeed the Queen herself who was most practiced in the healing arts, having learned them from Este in ancient times before the awakening of the Children of Eru. And so to the Queen Artanis went back, finding her in her rooms surrounded by her handmaidens. 

Melian bade her maidens depart, and they did so, but not without a backward glance at the dark hair and the silvergolden, so close together. One of them laughed softly but it was a kindly laugh, as one might laugh to see another about to have a great pleasure for the first time that is well-known and loved. 

And so at last they were alone together, seated side by side. Twisting her hands in her lap, Artanis stuttered through some questions about the nature of healing, until Melian took pity on her and lifted the wringing hands from where they lay, and pressed a soft kiss to the white knuckles of her fingers. 

“Healing,” Melian said, “is of the fea as much as of the hroa, and may only be done by those who dwell in full awareness of their own hroa and fea mingled.” She turned Artanis’ hands over, tracing her palm with a light finger. Artanis shivered under the touch. “This is why those who are warriors tend not to be healers, for the mindset needed for war separates the fea from the actions that the hroa must take. This is called dissociation, and in some cases fea and hroa separate too far, fighting against each other.” She looked at Artanis’ hands, strong but delicate. “These hands have wielded blade, have killed, have they not?” 

“I defended myself at need,” Artanis said, “and slew only the creatures of Morgoth.” She drew in a panicked breath. “No one and nothing else. The blood on Alqualonde’s sands I did not spill nor am I responsible for it.” 

Melian looked at her, deep, deep into her. “I think, my child, that is not entirely true.” 

“I did not slay him!” Artanis cried, all at once. “Would that I had!” 

“He met his fate soon enough,” Melian said. “Feanor’s destiny never was to die at your hands, so be grateful that all you did was draw a little blood, and so spare yourself the weight of his life.” She took a deep breath, and unconsciously Artanis copied her, calming. Melian’s strong fingers were rubbing gentle circles into Artanis’ hands, and she could feel the warmth coming back into them. “But we were speaking of the fea and the hroa. You have seen horrors and so your fea has buried those memories in the corners of itself, denying the hroa release from pain. The body remembers where the mind refuses it.”

“How, then, can they be reintegrated?” Artanis asked. “For I know that there are those who are both warriors and healers. My brother Finrod, for instance.”

“What think you of Finrod?” Melian asked. “How does he bear the burden of both warrior and healer?”

Artanis thought carefully. “He seems not to bear any burdens. There is a merry heart in him, as merry as a child at times, and a great wealth of kindness.”

Melian nodded. “Good. Kindness may seem to be a weakness on the battlefield, but it is not so. For kindness knits the body back to the mind, once the battle is done. You have also said that he has a merry heart, and it is indeed true that those who may laugh amidst the darkness are those who will find the light. But for you, more is needed. I suspect that your brother may also do this, from time to time, but this he will not tell you of.”

Eyes laughing, Melian leaned forward and pressed her lips to Artanis’ mouth. Stunned, Artanis let her lips part, and Melian kissed her deeply, drawing her close. 

“Kissing?” Artanis gasped once the kiss broke. 

Melian tilted her head in an elegant motion of indifference. “More than. Connection. Life. Pleasure. Give the hroa sweetness to replace the pain, and then the fea will join back with it in happiness and harmony.” She drew Artanis close again. “Have you never touched another in this way, truly?”

“No,” Artanis said. “I am Nerwen. For good or ill, I shut out all ties of this kind and kept to myself alone. I felt so trapped in Aman, a gilded cage where my days were all laid out before me. Even then, when I ran, when I was victorious over my cousins and all my rivals, I heard the whispers that once I bore children I would no longer be able to run as swift. Thus I scorned all neri, but I did not think to find my solace in nissi, and now I am amazed that I could not have thought of this.” She drew close to Melian, drawing her head down, and kissed her long and sweet. 

Within brief moments, they had moved from the couch to the bed, Artanis shedding her dress along the way, leaving only her underclothes on. Melian did not need to undress, she simply closed her eyes for a flash, focusing, and appeared then, glorious in her naked beauty, wrapped only in her hair. 

Melian lay down among the sheets, beckoning Artanis to her. Swift and decisive, Artanis removed the rest of her clothes, and with her long silvergolden hair trailing down over her breasts, climbed into the bed, moving to embrace the Queen. 

She could feel the Queen’s breasts, heavy and warm, pressed against her smaller, higher breasts. Their nipples met, and Artanis cried out with pleasure so great it was almost a sob. Every touch felt heightened, more alive, and the skin of the Queen against her own was finer than the finest silk, fairer than the driven snow. 

The Queen’s hand reached between her thighs, parting them gently, stroking the soft hairs there. At the first touch of the warm hand of the Queen to her clit, Artanis felt as if she would die, so great was the pleasure. Melian stroked her tenderly, gazing into her eyes, watching the look on her face, listening to the sweet noises she made. 

Artanis was overwhelmed. It was as if a warm Sea was breaking over her and she was lost in its waves, drowning in its sweetness. Melian’s lips met hers and their tongues slid against one another, somehow repeating in her mouth what Melian was tracing with her hand. 

And it was that which caught her. The waves she felt crested and broke, and she shuddered helplessly into Melian’s hand, against her mouth, for an unknowable time, her mind losing all conscious thought. 

When at last she came back to herself, she found Melian wrapped around her, warm and lovely. She was tracing small circles over her belly and breasts, humming very softly under her breath. For the life of her, Artanis could not move. Her body completely at ease, her mind was filled with joy like she had never known. 

Feelings and impressions passed through her, Melian showing her how very beautiful she looked, lost to passion, and how very much loved she was. 

“Do not seek a realm yet, fair one,” Melian said at last with words, the edge of laughter in her voice. “I would have thee at my side for as long as thou wishest to be with me.” 

There was only one answer to be made to that. “I am thine to command in all ways,” Artanis said in a whisper. “For thou art fairest beyond fair and my heart seeks no other.”


End file.
